Commentary

Weekend humor from Celia Rivenbark: Trump’s XXXL “warriors”

For someone who avoided military service with such gusto (and so many, many bone spurs) President Trump is curiously fond of tossing about the word “warrior.” He’s not alone, of course. We live in a country where, seriously, “brand warriors” is a real job. Granted, “developing a total brand domain strategy” isn’t exactly mucking through rice paddies across the globe or squeezing beef stew out of a pouch while dodging sniper fire but, sure, Topher, you’re a warrior.

OK, no you’re not.

Trump loves to use words like “warrior” to signify he’s our commander and we are his troops, God help us all. There are countless examples with the most recent, and silliest, being that Americans are Coronavirus “warriors.”

Dying for the cause is what warriors DO, Grandma. Suck it up. We are urged by Trump to go once more unto the Target to save the economy, no mask needed.

Last Sunday, Trump trotted out his favorite word yet again, calling the Tulsa attendees who braved a few protesters in Birkenstocks, “warriors.”

OK, to be clear. Filing in an orderly manner into a half-empty arena while wearing a T shirt that says “Let’s Make the Democrats Shit Their Pants” seems less warrior and more 7th grade but whatever.

Yes, nothing says noble fighting spirit like a XXXL T shirt stretched across a vast prairie of a stomach proclaiming: “Biden sucks and Pelosi Swallows” to call to mind true military greatness.

If Trump calls you a “warrior,” you should worry. Remember how he announced American farmers were “warriors” while he picked a trade war with China that damn near destroyed U.S. farmers’ exports? If Trump proclaims you a warrior, it means he’s looking for you to quit whining and get in line to make him look good. Like how they march so pretty in North Korea.

Everybody’s a warrior these days. Except not really. Surviving a horrible illness doesn’t make you a warrior; it makes you a survivor of a horrible illness. Brave, tested, resilient, but not a warrior.

Life coaches and relationship gurus urge us to embrace the warrior within. You have survived a breakup with a toxic boyfriend, husband, girlfriend, job, cable company…this doesn’t make you a warrior; it makes you a human.

A friend happily calls herself a “road warrior,” which is a relatively new term to describe employees who travel a lot for work and multitask along the way. Road warrior? C’mon. You figured out how to dictate emails via Bluetooth from inside your company car and you’re a warrior? Nope.

As General Patton once said while sitting in snarled interstate traffic in rush-hour Atlanta: “Lead me, follow me, or get out of my way…to Panera. Where I will pay $18 for tomato soup and a cookie because, well, per diem.”

There are “American Ninja warriors,” “computer warriors” and “Golden State Warriors.” So many warriors, so few real ones. But y’all  know who you are. And thanks.

Celia Rivenbark flew on an airplane last week and the man across the aisle removed his mask to sneeze.

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